


Petrichor

by bustoparadise



Series: The Saga of RainClan [2]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: American setting, Multi, oc clan, queer kitties, sims 3 warrior cats challenge, so many warrior cat ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustoparadise/pseuds/bustoparadise
Summary: Petrichor—noun, the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil.After surviving the destruction of their Clan and imprisonment by vicious rogues, Featherfall and Mistwalk try to heal from their past and plan their future. Meanwhile, a supernatural force, neither StarClan nor Dark Forest, seeks to tear the fledgling Clan apart.





	1. The Return

## 

Mistwalk was still chanting “Feather _star_! Feather _star_!” like they were at a leadership ceremony. The barn cats and Rabbitkit clearly didn’t know what to think. Featherfall understood their confusion and skepticism all too well.

“So, Mistwalk,” the beige tabby, Mouse Face, said jokingly, “I think you might’ve forgotten to check for a pulse.”

Featherfall hesitated before speaking, aware of how insane she sounded. “No, I was dead. The Ruler killed me.” She shuddered at the memory. All she’d been able to think as her vision failed was _Not yet, I need to see him die, why isn’t he dying...?_

She had to remind herself that he was dead. Once she’d left the nursery burrow and realized that Mistwalk and Rabbitkit had left the aspen grove, his cold body the first thing she’d checked.

She’d sunk her fangs into his eyes. If he did return, as she had, let him return blind.

“Can Papa come back?!” Rabbitkit blurted out, crouching even lower in the hay at the back corner of the barn, ears pulled back anxiously.

“Sweetheart, don’t be silly,” Mistwalk said. “StarClan wouldn’t bless him.”

“You also didn’t think they’d bless Shorthair,” Rabbitkit pointed out.

“I’m Featherfall,” Featherfall snapped. How dare he use the Ruler’s name for her after all she’d done for him?

“Featherstar,” Mistwalk corrected.

“Featherfall.”

“I know, my dear one, it will take a while to get used to.”

“Well, now I’m just confused,” Mouse Face said cheerfully. Featherfall remembered how interested he’d been in new stories when they’d met seasons ago. _This certainly is a story_ , she thought wearily. _And not a welcome one._ All she’d ever wanted to be was a good warrior for MeadowClan.

“What if the Dark Forest blesses Papa and he comes back?” Rabbitkit whimpered.

“The Dark Forest doesn’t do that,” Mistwalk replied.

“But if—somehow—he is back,” Featherfall said, “I dedicate my next life to killing him again.”

There was a short silence before Rabbitkit nodded. “Good.” He raised his head, ears forward. “I’ll help.”

“No, you won’t,” Featherfall said sternly. “You can barely move.”

He hissed. So quick to anger, just like his father. _Why did I try to save him?_ “I can sometimes!” he whined. “Just...not all the time.”

“You seem tired,” Sweeps Up said to Featherfall. “Do you have the energy to tell us your story? We’d all like to hear it, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

An orange tabby elder with a white chin and chest snorted. “Speak for yourself! I’ve no yen to hear some wanderer’s madness. We’ve only one life in this world. All of us have seen enough death to know that.”

A grey and white tom with a spiked collar, almost a twin to the black-and-white collared dog sitting beside him, snorted. “I don’t care about anyone coming back from the dead. I want to hear how that grey fucker died.”

“Language,” said Sweeps Up and someone else. For a heartbeat, she’d thought the dog had spoken. _I am tired, it seems._

“There’s a kit here,” said a black-and-white tom with one green and one yellow eye.

“I’ve heard worse,” Rabbitkit muttered.

 _If you care about the Ruler’s death so much, why weren’t you fighting him?_ she wanted to snap, but she stopped herself. Why had she let the Ruler mount her? Why had she hunted for him and obeyed his insane demands? She didn’t know these cats and what the greys had done to them before she and Mistwalk had arrived in the outskirts of the Twolegplace. 

Featherfall said, “I want to talk to Mistwalk privately.”

Mouse Face groaned in dismay, but Sweeps Up showed them to a “stall”—where Twolegs had kept horses, she explained—with the door slightly ajar. Inside was more mildewed hay and a large stone container, likely where Twolegs had stored water for the horses.

It wasn’t truly private. Even now, Mouse Face’s voice carried enough that she could hear him mrrow and joke, “Well, when I return from the afterlife, my name is going to be Badger Face!” She couldn’t stop any of the barn cats from listening in, but she had to trust they were honourable enough not to.

As Mistwalk looked at Featherfall, her tail was still up, her ears perked, her pupils wide. She looked excited. She looked happy.

Guilt clawed at Featherfall’s stomach. She doubted the medicine cat would be feeling happy for long.

“Featherstar, my dear one! I can’t believe—I’m so glad—may I nuzzle you, dearest?”

Featherfall relaxed. She brought her muzzle forward, and Mistwalk rubbed her cheek against it, purring happily. Featherfall buried her muzzle in her friend’s long fur and inhaled. She smelled like hay and Rabbitkit and her own personal scent, which reminded Featherfall of the vast, blue prairie sky; of dodging their mothers’ legs in the heather-covered nursery; of Whisperstar’s kind, golden gaze during her apprenticeship ceremony.

They nuzzled cheeks, chins and foreheads together, then rubbed their foreheads and chins along each other’s backs and sides, drenching each other in their smell, becoming a Clan again.

A greeting sniff to the base of Mistwalk’s tail brought the acrid tang of stress to Featherfall’s nose. Stress-scent shouldn’t be combined with the scent of pregnancy, but in Mistwalk, they were. _StarClan, no. She can’t lose another kit._ Featherfall pulled away faster than she meant to, wincing as the scar at her throat tugged at the surrounding flesh.

“Are you well, my heart?” Mistwalk said, eyeing the scar tissue and sniffing it.

“I’ll get used to them.”

“Anything other than the scars?”

“I’m tired.”

“My first visit with StarClan took a lot out of me, too.” She blinked a few times, her tail and ears drooping. “Your tom died while you fought the Ruler.”

Featherfall nodded, gaze going from her friend to the stall door. _Believe me, I know_ , she wanted to snarl.

“My milk didn’t come,” Mistwalk continued. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t, obviously. I missed everything happening aboveground.

“I’m so sorry, my friend.” Her voice got faster, a bit louder. “For the little tomkit, for not fighting by your side, for everything.”

Her exhaustion was good for something: she was incapable of anger. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

“But it does! A medicine cat’s job is to listen to—”

“Not now. Please.” She hadn’t meant that last word to come out in a whine worse than Rabbitkit’s, but it did.

“All right,” Mistwalk cooed, far too sweetly given what they’d been discussing. This was Mistwalk the queen, responding to a tired, grumpy kit. She slowly wrapped her tail around Featherfall’s haunches, gently, so she could move if she wanted to. Featherfall didn’t. Mistwalk’s tail stroked up and down her lower back.

 _I want to keep liking you_ , Featherfall imagined herself explaining, _but I can’t if we keep talking about this. I don’t want to start hating you—to start hurting you—again. I’m not strong enough to save you from myself._

She buried the words deep inside her. Maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe Mistwalk would never bring it up again.

“You can rest, dear one,” Mistwalk said softly. “Rest, and I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

The offer was tempting. Featherfall sighed. “I should tell you what happened after I died now, while it’s still fresh.” _And while I’m so tired I won’t feel guilty when I lie._

“All right.” Mistwalk knew Featherfall well—she gave Featherfall time to think, even though she must be dying of curiosity.

“It wasn’t StarClan, Mistwalk. There were no ancestors, nothing bathed in silver, nothing from any story I’d ever heard.”

“But you couldn’t have gone to the Dark Forest.”

“It wasn’t that, either. It was...it was a waterfall.”

Mistwalk stared at her, speechless, for once.

“Here, let me start from the beginning....”

  



	2. The Waterfall

Featherfall woke to a waterfall roaring nearby. In the foothill Clans, every warrior’s apprenticeship involved half a moon of living among the two other Clans, learning their stories and hunting techniques. Boasting and eyeing up potential mates weren’t the only reasons for the exchange; the Clans were so small that they’d had to adopt warriors of other Clans in the past just to survive. Having apprentices that knew the basics of hunting in a Clan’s territory saved on training them if a Clan faced destruction.

When Featherfall heard the waterfall, she thought she was back in MountainClan, with its huge, salmon-filled waterfalls. Then she opened her eyes.

Her stomach clenched in terror.

All she saw was a path. Somehow, it was lit, there was no source of light. The path seemed like dirt until she focused on it. Then, it blurred, becoming fallen leaves. She focused on it some more and it became flattened grasses, like a well-used trail in MeadowClan. Then, it became the dark stone of a Twoleg road.

There was nothing else around her—not a breeze stirred her whiskers. Around her was darkness, until it became white light, but always featureless. What was she standing on? She should feel something, but when she tried to focus on it, the exact feeling eluded her.

 _I can’t smell_ , she realized. “Is anyone there?” she asked. Air wheezed out her throat. She felt the giant gash in her throat with her paw. It didn’t hurt.

She might have stood there forever, but a moon-old grey tabby joined her. She knew him immediately—her tomkit, her son. He blinked up at her then sniffed her. Without hesitation, he ran down the path.

She followed.

While the path felt completely surreal, the waterfall it led her to seemed normal. A gentle breeze blew the scent of water her way. Grass brushed against her paws. Stars twinkled in a cloudless night sky and the quarter-moon shone at the apex of its path across the sky. The water fell from a small mountain into a large stone pool. Beyond the pool were trees; now and then, branches clicked together in a particularly strong gust.

But she still had a gaping hole in her throat.

Overlapping mews caught her ear. Three one-moon-old kits were chasing each other near the lip of the stone pool. One white, one grey with white and orange spots, one a grey tabby with a white chest and paws. Meadowkit, Spotkit and Stripekit—in the depths of her mind, far beyond conscious thought, she’d named her starved kits.

They should be shining with silver, shouldn’t they? And where was the rest of MeadowClan? They were all dead except Mistwalk—everyone should be in StarClan. Featherfall sniffed the air and the ground, swiveled her ears to catch the faintest sound, and peered at every shadow. Her ancestors and Clanmates were nowhere.

Featherfall wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t gotten into StarClan. But if this was the Dark Forest, why were the kits here? They’d all died at only a few days old. What could they have done to be sent here?

Seeing nothing else to do, she approached the kits. They stopped playing, wide-eyed. Meadowkit and Spotkit ran to sniff her, while Stripekit pawed at her, mewing.

“I’m sorry,” she told Spotkit and Stripekit. Somehow, despite the bite to her throat, she spoke just fine. “I should have smothered you.”

The tilted their heads at her, confused.

“Your mother misses you,” she said to Meadowkit. She actually wasn’t sure Mistwalk thought much about her kitted son, but it seemed a kind thing to say.

He mewed in reply.

Maybe she should start with simpler concepts. “Your name is Meadowkit.” She pointed at him with her muzzle, sounding out his name slowly.

“Edowkid,” he repeated uncertainly.

“Very good.” She gave him a quick lick on the forehead. He squeaked in surprise then leaned in for another lick.

“Mebbowkib!” Spotkit blurted out.

“Your name is Spotkit,” Featherfall told her.

“Spotkit! Spotkit!” she chanted, and Featherfall nuzzled her.

She taught Stripekit his name, then taught them the words for water and stone. They were only kits, though, and soon they abandoned the lesson for playing. No other cats, whether silver like StarClan or shadowed like the Dark Forest, joined them.

 _I refused to be a mother to my kit in life. Is this punishment, to mother kits in death?_  It seemed an odd punishment. The kits were sweet. Minding them would be boring and lonely, but compared to the Dark Forest, this was easy.

“Meadowkit!” Meadowkit shouted. He puffed up proudly and glanced at her and his new friends as if telling them ‘Watch this!’ Then, he shimmered, and a silver ball burst out of his chest. He didn’t become fully solid again; she could see the stone and grass through him.

Meadowkit began batting the silver light around like a toy.

Even a simple warrior knew anything silver had to be of StarClan. Cautiously, Featherfall stepped toward the ball of light. She glanced at Spotkit and Stripekit, who watched in awe. Extending her paw, she gingerly touched it.

She hadn’t realized her heart had stopped beating until it started again. Pain shot through her throat so strongly that she collapsed to her haunches with a yowl. She jerked her paw away.

She was back by the waterfall. The kits were staring up at her, ears back and eyes wide. Meadowkit moved first, softly batting the silver light. When it didn’t hurt him, he returned to playing with it more confidently.

This was a life, bestowed unknowingly by a kit.

Featherfall glanced at Spotkit, enraptured with the glowing light, and Stripekit, who eyed Featherfall anxiously. If anyone deserved a second chance at life, it was two innocent kits.

And yet.

ForestClan told the tale of Dawnstar, who’d lost all his lives to starvation as he refused to take food from his Clanmates’ mouths. A new life would only last so long without the necessities of life. Would Mistwalk get her milk in time to nurse whichever kit Featherfall brought back?

_I just said I should have smothered them. I can’t bring one of them back to die again. And how can I choose between them? What if I bring back a monster?_

_But if I steal this life, then I’ll know I’m bringing back something evil._

“Can either of you do what Meadowkit just did?” she asked her kits. “Make a…a silver ball?”

They stared back at her with incomprehension. Perhaps, being alone for so long, only Meadowkit had developed the ability. Perhaps her kits could learn it with time.

 _But could they learn it in time for two of us to return?_  She couldn’t imagine returning to a body that was already rotting in the ground.

On the other side of the pool, a figure moved. It was large—a Twoleg, perhaps? Featherfall tested the air but smelled nothing beyond water, moss and greenery.

The figure stepped out of the treeline. It was the faintest outline of a Twoleg. Its head was tilted down. Featherfall followed its imagined gaze. With a pang of unease, she saw it was looking at the silver light.

“Meadowkit, have you seen this before?” She gestured to the Twoleg with her muzzle.

Meadowkit looked up—then whimpered and fled. There was a small cave mouth in the stones at the base of the small mountain, right next to the waterfall. No Twoleg could fit into it. Meadowkit was so scared he forgot his life, glowing like a silver moon by the lip of the pool. The farther he ran, the weaker it glowed and the more solid he became.

The Twoleg floated over the stone pool, moving fast as a swallow in flight. Its arm was outstretched.

Featherfall had no more time to debate. “Run!” she shouted to her kits. She pounced on the life, snapping it up easily.

Her kits were running for the cave mouth.Stripekit looked back at her with an accusing blue gaze. 

That was her last look at them before pain blocked her senses. Whatever world this was fell away, and all she could concentrate on were the countless claws at her throat.

She yowled, fur rising, tail lashing.  _Why did I steal it?_ She tried to breathe, but air hissed from her opened throat. Spots danced before her eyes and she collapsed to the ground.

 _It was a trap_ , she realized.  _Steal it and there’s only pain. Fool!_

She was still thinking that when she realized she was in the nursery burrow. Aboveground, rain was falling. Her kits were with her, cold and still. The air in the burrow was heavy with Rabbitkit and Mistwalk’s distress scents. Her throat still ached, but slightly less than a heartbeat ago.

She was alive. A true, StarClan-touched leader likely would have felt elated, but all she felt was exhausted.

* * *

In telling the story, Featherfall lied about her choice. She made it sound as if Meadowkit had accidentally kicked the life at her when he turned to run. It had touched her paw and she’d arrived back in her body in the nursery burrow, throat aching but alive.

Fortunately, Mistwalk focused on other parts of her story. “A Twoleg?” she asked, stunned. “Even if Twolegs have an afterlife of their own, why would it have anything to do with cats? This makes no sense!”

With a sigh, Mistwalk licked Featherfall’s cheek. “A thought for another day, I suppose. Thank you for telling me, dear one. You should sleep now.”

Nodding, Featherfall lay down and curled up. Mistwalk lay beside her, her tail curled over Featherfall’s haunches.

After a few moments, Rabbitkit poked his head in the stall. “Um, Mama, could I sleep next to you?”

Featherfall felt her friend flinch. “Oh, sweetheart, of course you can! You don’t even have to ask.”

Rabbitkit zigzagged his way into the stall. Featherfall had suspected he was faking his sickness when Mistwalk had first told her about it, but seeing the sheer awkwardness of his movements, she was certain he wasn’t. He gave Featherfall a quick sniff, which she didn’t return.

Featherfall lay her head down, but didn’t sleep, and she suspected no one else in the stall did, either.

All she could see were Stripekit’s accusing blue eyes.


	3. The Funeral

## 

The Clan and barn cats buried That’s brother and sister the next day by a clump of heather near the nursery burrow. The rain had lessened to a drizzle. The burial took almost no time at all; Manx’s canine paws were better at digging than any cat’s could be.

“It’s tradition that we say some words in front of the Clan,” Mistwalk said. She nodded to the barn cats. “Would you stay?”

They did, and almost everyone spoke.

Mama prayed MeadowClan’s ancestors would comfort and care for the kits in StarClan. Sweeps Up spoke of her own lost litter, and finding comfort in the thought that the dead were spared suffering. Two Tone offered condolences to Featherfall, Mistwalk and That and said that he wished things had happened differently. Mouse Face talked about his dead siblings, dying in leaf-bare cold as his mother tried to save them. There were times he’d felt his dead siblings watching over him, and he was sure these kits would guide their family. Gina mentioned that Uprights—what the barn cats called Twolegs or Longpaws—tried to save kits, knowing how important they were, and how it was a tragedy to lose them. Manx spoke in his heavily accented speech about how the pain of lost kits never truly faded.

That approached his siblings with a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into their small, folded ears. He nuzzled them with his cheeks and jaw, scent-marking them as his family. “If I’d been able to hunt—”

“No.” Mama swooped in the nuzzle him. “The Enforcer and the Ruler stole food from us. This was their doing, not yours. Never think that,” she whispered fiercely. “Never.”

Mama’s words couldn’t comfort him. She could never know the truth: that It had stolen food from the she-cats’ mouths, and That had let him, desperate to keep his father from finding out about his sickness. Last night, in his exhaustion, he’d almost let it slip.

Everyone waited for Terrier or Featherfall to say something, but they didn’t. His mother had been staring intently at her kits while everyone spoke. Now, she twitched as if being startled from sleep, picked her kits up, and set them in their grave. Manx quickly buried them.

Mama blurted out, “Oh! Meadowkit! He’s buried here.” She nodded to further along the heather patch. Her ears lowered. “I said goodbye countless times in my mind, but I just realized I never got to say it out loud. I hope StarClan finds him soon.” Her gaze unfocused and her tail swished low, troubled. Featherfall had told everyone the story of her resurrection as they travelled from the barn to the aspen grove. That had no idea what to think about it, but what scared him was that neither did Mama.

That nuzzled her cheek to settle her. She blinked at him, then cooed, “You’re so kind, my little love.” That’s skin prickled with embarrassment. Did she have to call him that in front of _everyone_?

“You don’t have to be silent anymore,” Sweeps Up said to Mama. The two she-cats looked at each other, and Mama’s ears relaxed. Mama tried to catch Featherfall’s gaze, but she was staring at the grave, tail twitching as if she was watching a mouse’s burrow.

The barn cats and Manx moved away to talk among themselves, in the clearing between the brambles, heather and boxwood where That and It had often played. Sweeps Up was standing right where Papa had tortured that mouse in an attempt to teach That how to hunt.

Approaching Featherfall, That sat beside her. A few heartbeats later, she looked at him. “I’m sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t have called you Shorthair yesterday. I’m still not used to your new names.”

Her ear flicked. “Featherfall was _always_ my name.”

That winced. How could he be so stupid? “I still call myself That, in my head. It stopped me from slipping up in front of him.”

“Apology accepted.” She turned away, so he did, too.

When she said, “I often saw your father in you,” he turned back to her. She was looking not at him but a space to his left. “Wrongly, I think. I apologize.”

“Th—thanks?” He’d meant to state that, but it had come out like a question. He’d never thought she would ever be so kind to him.

Then Mama approached from the left, where Featherfall had been looking, so quickly that she must have been listening. _Oh, so that’s why Featherfall bothered to apologize._

Though Mama cooed, “This can be a fresh start for both of you!”, and That and Featherfall nodded, That knew they were both lying.

Papa’s corpse posed a problem. That, Mama and Featherfall didn’t want him anywhere near the aspen grove, but leaving him out for crows reminded them of the Ruler’s cruelty.

Two Tone came up with a good idea. “Terrier and Manx, could you bury him far away where no one hunting the territory would easily come across him?” the black-and-white tom asked, and they agreed. They took the Ruler’s body further down the Thunderpath, past the old dead hawthorn tree. That watched them until they disappeared from view.

Sweeps Up organized some hunting, with her, Two Tone and Featherfall (after she volunteered) ranging between the river and Cypress Hill Swamp across the Thunderpath. Mama offered to hunt nearby, but Sweeps Up suggested she rest, and she went into the burrow without complaint.

Mouse Face and Gina took shelter under the same spruce tree as That to watch the Ruler get dragged away. The Enforcer had napped in this exact spot often when it was raining. For a heartbeat, That thought he could smell his uncle.

“So that was him,” Mouse Face murmured. “The stories I’ve heard of him made him seem like a terrible storm or a vengeful spirit. But here he is, just a cat like any other.”

“He was cruel, even as a kit,” Gina said. The elder’s breath smelled bad; some of her teeth must be rotting. “The older one, not so much, but too much a follower, I suppose.”

“You knew my father?” That asked Gina.

“Eh, he didn’t tell you? Raincloud—your grandmama—had two litters at the barn. She was a companion to Uprights, but she got lost while she was pregnant and would’ve starved if not for the barn. Mercy, boy, where did you think your uncle got those blue eyes? Ferals don’t have them.”

That could still remember how Papa started the story of his birth. “I was born in a den in an uprooted tree, guarded by my older brother. Humble beginnings, you’d think, except green and purple lights twisting in the sky. The world knew I was coming.” Betrayal flared so sharply in That’s chest that he bared his teeth.

He should explain himself to a surprised Mouse Face and watchful Gina. “He said he was born in the wild. He called you barn cats ticks and fleas! I just didn’t think he’d lied that much. I thought at least some stuff was true.”

Gina snorted. “Born in the wild! The barn gave him a home for six moons! After that, we couldn’t excuse his cruelty as kit stupidity anymore, so we asked your grandmama to discipline him or leave. Raincloud left. Pretty but foolish, she was. And look what her foolishness gave us!

“Sweeps Ups’ mother, Brownie, felt bad and kept trying to help Raincloud, especially when another litter came. One visit to the swamp was Brownie’s last. She made it halfway back to the barn before she collapsed from blood loss. Two Tone found her. Bits of her missing, he said.”

“Gina!” Mouse Face exclaimed. “Are you trying to give the kit nightmares?”

That was surprised Papa had let Brownie go. Did the Enforcer not hold her down? Maybe he and his grandmother had stared in shock. _By the time I was born, they figured out the system. The Enforcer to pin down, It to kill once the Ruler got bored._

The kittypet had screamed so loud....

“Since Gina won’t apologize, I’ll apologize for her,” Mouse Face said. “She’s in pain and it makes her cruel.”

Gina didn’t seem particularly cruel to That. She was just bluntly telling the truth. “It’s fine. And I’m not a kit anymore, not really. A few days ago was my sixth moon. That makes me an apprentice, if I was in a Clan.” He glared at his paws. Suddenly, his claws were out and he raked the ground. He couldn’t even do that right; he’d meant for his paw to go straight, but the furrows were crooked. “Or it would, if I weren’t sick!”

“What happens to sick kits in a Clan?” Gina asked.

“They go to the elder’s den,” he grumbled. After a moment, he remembered who he was talking to. Ashamed, he sheathed his claws and ducked his head in apology. “Not that being an elder is bad! But....”

“It’s not what you wanted in life.”

“Yeah.” Elders were cared for because they had experience and kept the Clan’s stories alive. That didn’t have any experience, and he didn’t even know that many stories. _I’ll just be an extra mouth to feed next leaf-bare. My brother and sister already died because I can’t hunt. Am I just going to bring more hunger to my family?_

“You might think of becoming an Uprights’ companion,” Gina said.

“W—what?”

“Ah,” Mouse Face said, amused, “trying to indoctrinate a kit, Gina? His family will appreciate that, I’m sure!”

“Didn’t you get out of hunt patrol by saying you’d stand guard? For someone who’s supposed to be on watch, you’re listening awful close!”

“I know you think me a slobbering fool, my dear, but I actually can do more than one thing at a time.”

Gina leaned in to That so close that he could see her brown teeth and her swollen gums. “It would be a good life for you, kit. No need to worry about hiding from hawks or fighting foxes. Food, every day, delivered right to you. And it’s not all lazing around—there’s skills you can learn and places you can explore.”

“If your Uprights are good,” Mouse Face said. “I’m sorry to say not all of them are.”

“Pah!” Gina batted at his mouth with her tail. “Your Uprights treated you fine!”

“They did, but my experience isn’t everyone’s.” To That, he said, “If you’d like a dose of horror, ask Terrier or Manx about how terrible Uprights can be to their companions.”

“But...what about...?”  That gestured to his paws.

“Uprights can do miraculous things,” Gina said. “Perhaps you could be cured.”

That’s eyes widened in surprised until he reviewed her words. “‘Perhaps’?”

Gina ducked her head. “I can’t promise anything. But with Uprights, many things are possible. Uprights would come to the barn and take sick cats from time to time. Sometimes, those cats would return moons or seasons later. Cats with fevers broken, cats with infections vanished, cats with broken legs healed!”

“All Cut so they can’t sire or bear kits,” Mouse Face added. “That seems to be the trade-off.”

To Mama, Twolegs were strange, rarely seen creatures; to Papa, they’d been evil things that lived to destroy cats’ lives. He’d never heard about this. “Why do they do that?”

“Because most Uprights love cats,” Gina said. “We’re meant to be their companions. It’s in our bones. Quite simply, it’s meant to be.”

* * *

That dreamed of Papa that night. His voice rang across camp—getting closer to the nursery burrow. That bolted. He ran like he had when he was younger, his paws going where he meant them to go. 

But it wasn’t enough. Papa was everywhere. In front of him. By his side. Behind him. Stepping out from the bush with the burnt branch. Leaping down from the aspen trees. 

He woke up to Mama cooing, “Hush, my little love. Hush. It’s all right. Just a bad dream, my dearest. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

This time, That knew she was lying. He sighed, resting his head on his paws, and tried to get back to sleep.


	4. Saying Goodbye Part 1

  


The sun was shining the next morning, so the cats met in the clover patch to discuss plans, as the surrounding bramble and heather hid them from the Thunderpath. A pity there wasn’t any clover so early in the season. Every MeadowClan cat knew that sweet smells led to sweet thoughts; the Clan had held their meetings among a patch of daisies and yellow-eye.

Sweeps Up started the meeting by saying she was committed to helping Mistwalk bear her kit and raise them with a full fresh-kill pile, which surprised and humbled Mistwalk. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been expecting the barn cats to leave.

“However,” Sweeps Up continued, “Gina has asked for help to return to Uprightlands and see if an Upright will take her in. I’d like to escort her and stay with her for a few days. Terrier, would you, Manx and Mouse Face help with the hunting here?”

A leader shouldn’t have to ask. Poor Sweeps Up; if she’d been the leader of a Clan, cats would be honoured to follow her orders.

“Finally got tired of preaching to us, huh?” Terrier asked Gina, his tone so insolent that Mistwalk gasped. Such disrespect for an elder!

“I need walls around me.” Gina’s gaze narrowed. “Since you all want to be hardened ferals, shedding blood and bearing kits until sickness or old age claim you, be free! You won’t have Gina to remind you of the other path.”

“Some of us have enough scars to remember the Longpaws by,” Terrier said coldly.

Gina’s fur was beginning to rise. Manx quickly said, “We’ve all smelled this scent before, friends. Let us not fight on a day we say goodbye to each other.”

“Yeah, sure,” the grey-and-white tom said. To Sweeps Up, he said, “In a few days, I’m off whether you’re back or not. There’s some wanderers that need to know the lead grey is dead…and I don’t want the blue-eyed grey’s trail to grow cold.”

“The Enforcer,” Mistwalk said. “He might also be calling himself.... Um. I heard his old name once.... Er, if I remember, I’ll let you know.”

Terrier’s “Thanks,” had a sarcastic edge. Did he have to be so rude?

Rabbitkit cleared his throat. “Mama,” he said solemnly, “I’d like to go with the barn cats to the Twolegplace and...and find a Twoleg family to live with.”

Mistwalk stared at him, unable to speak. She glanced at Featherfall, who looked just as surprised as she felt, then at Sweeps Up. Surely, she didn’t agree with this? But the brown longhair was watching Mistwalk with a sympathetic gaze. Two Tone coolly observed Mistwalk, Rabbitkit and Gina; Mouse Face was concentrating on grooming his paw. Manx was also watching Gina, and Terrier wearily eyed Mistwalk. Gina herself looked at Rabbitkit with a mother’s pride. Why was no one stopping this madness?

“Leave?!” was all Mistwalk could say. The word came out short and sharp, like the squeal of a mouse before it died.

“I don’t want to,” Rabbitkit added quickly. “But how can I live in the wild?”

“We’ll protect you.” Mistwalk shouldn’t have to remind him of the obvious. “We’re a Clan. You’re—you’re—” Her throat closed up. She couldn’t say ‘my son.’ She was trembling. He couldn’t leave her. Not when they were finally safe. Not after everything she’d sacrificed for him.

“You were responsible, weren’t you, Gina?” Terrier asked, glowering at the elder. “You told the kit that Longpaws can control where you live? They could put you in a room with no food or water and never let you out, if they felt like it.”

Mistwalk had never thought of what life could be like for kittypets. Her paws brought her to Rabbitkit’s side before she was consciously aware of it. She had to protect him.

“Did you tell him that they can hurt you and you can’t hurt them back?” Terrier continued. “A huge dog could, maybe, but not cats like us. Longpaws can put extra fur on over their skin, so your fangs and claws mean nothing. They can kick you and throw you hard enough to break bones. They can control fire. They even have fangs of their own, silvery ones that they hold in their front paws, and they can use them just as well as we can.”

Rabbitkit’s tail was curling close to his hind legs. Obviously, Gina hadn’t mentioned all this when she spoke of the greatness of kittypet life. Mistwalk wrapped her tail tightly around her son.

“There!” Mistwalk said, nodding to Terrier. “Just listen to that.” Her voice kept getting louder and louder. “You can’t go! You just can’t!” He was shaking, poor thing. Or was she shaking? She couldn’t tell.

“Gina suggested we look for Uprights at the Cat Gardens,” Sweeps Up said gently. A memory tugged at Mistwalk’s mind. Had she been there before? “The Uprights who bring their companions there care for them.”

“They _seem_ to,” Terrier said. “Uprights can change their minds.”

Suddenly, Mistwalk remembered: the Ruler sniffing at her hindquarters, the Enforcer’s blank stare, the Ruler’s weight on her back and breath on her neck. A cold wave rose up from her toes to her ears.

“Never!” she yowled. “You’ll never bring him there!” Her tail lashed. “He’s just a kit!” Her fangs were bared as she glared at Sweeps Up. “Why are you even listening to him? Kits want to do a thousand impossible things every day!”

She couldn’t hear much beyond her pulse in her ears, but she caught Rabbitkit saying, “Mama, I’m six moons old.”

“Apprentices don’t get to decide their lives either!” She turned her glare on him; at his startled expression, she forced her lips over her teeth. _I have to calm down_ , she realized. But she couldn’t stop herself from yowling, “You vile rogues won’t take him from me! He’s my son. Among the Clans, family _means_ something!”

Sweeps Up and Two Tone accepted this calmly—in fact, they looked at her with insufferable pity—but Mouse Face _harumph_ ed loudly and Gina spat.

“Mama!” Rabbitkit staggered in front of her, blocking her view of the rogues, staring into her eyes. “I’m not being taken. I’m _choosing_ to go.”

His eyes were the same yellow as his father’s. “You—” her voice quivered “—you can’t.” _Breathe. Calm down. Breathe!_ “Featherfall, tell him.” She looked away from him, gasping for air. She could smell hydrangeas in her nose, as if she were back in the Cat Gardens.

Featherfall was silent for long enough that Rabbitkit started appealing to her. “I don’t want to take food from everyone’s mouths in the elder’s den. And what if a racoon or a fox attacks? I couldn’t fight them or escape them. I tried to run from Papa, remember? But I couldn’t even make it a few steps. Being scared or angry makes it harder for me to move.”

After a few moments, Featherfall quietly said, “A Clan doesn’t get rid of members because they’re inconvenient. That’s not our way.”

Mistwalk stared at her friend. She could try a bit harder than this! “And we love you!” she added quickly. “It’d...it’d break our hearts if you left.”

Rabbitkit’s ears lowered. “I just...I don’t want—” He paused, sitting on his haunches, his tail tip twitching as he searched for the right words. “Here, Papa is everywhere. And I’m part of him. What if…what if I stay and I break your heart, too? Because I become bad?”

“You won’t,” she said fiercely. “You’re my son, and you’re a good kit, and I love you.”

He gently butted his head against hers, then nuzzled her cheek. “I love you too, Mama.”

But he didn’t stay he’d stay with her.

* * *

It took Mistwalk some frantic pacing to calm down and come to her senses. The meeting was over by the time her heartbeat slowed to normal. Sweeps Up announced that she, Gina, and Two Tone were going to leave for the Cat Gardens the next day.

Mistwalk had just one day to convince Rabbitkit to stay.

First, she apologized to the barn cats for calling them vile rogues, then she learned all she could about Twolegs and kittypets from them. Though Mouse Face joked, “Perhaps we can trade knowledge—I could educate you on Uprights and you can educate me on _family_ ,” for the most part, the barn cats politely shared what they knew.

_I’m not this cat that screams and insults others all the time_ , she wanted to tell them. _I used to be very nice. I usually am._ But what did her words matter? She’d have to start acting better than she had the past few days.

As she and Rabbitkit settled down in the nursery burrow before their daytime sleep, Mistwalk said, “They say Twolegs will Cut you if they take you. Don’t you want to have kits?”

“Not really.” Rabbitkit flicked an ear dismissively. “Besides, maybe it’s better that there’s less of Papa in the world. It’ll just be me and them.” He pointed with his chin at her stomach. “Not that your kit will be bad or anything,” he added quickly. “I’m sure they’ll be good. Better than me, even!”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. Why did he keep thinking that?

Rabbitkit looked away from her and stared moodily at the burrow walls.

“An evil cat wouldn’t blame themselves for the deaths of their siblings,” she said softly. “An evil cat wouldn’t mourn them.”

He just sighed heavily, curled up next to her and put his head down. She groomed him until he drifted off to sleep. If they were a proper Clan, he’d be named Rabbitpaw by now and be in the elder’s den. Sometimes she was happy they weren’t a real Clan.

Relaxing, she thought over Rabbitkit’s arguments for leaving. _He fears being useless. How to convince him to stay when he’ll never be a hunter or a fighter?_

When he woke, she commented, “You could be the Clan’s storyteller! Someone has to remember MeadowClan when your mama’s memory is being foggy.”

“You remember more of MeadowClan than I do.” He staggered onto his paws to stretch himself out. “I just remember _him_.”

“So do I. Why, if there wasn’t a perfectly good nursery burrow here, I would’ve suggested we move. Memories of your father will fade with time, love, and fat prey. Speaking of, I’m hungry! Let’s go see what there is.”

She purred to see a plump shrew, two mice and four voles. “Now this, my dear, is a proper fresh-kill pile!” She gulped down a shrew that was still warm. Her kit squirmed in her belly, as if they sensed her excitement. She glanced at Rabbitkit. “Your little brother or sister is going to miss you, if you go.”

Rabbitkit sighed. “And I’ll miss them. I’ll miss everyone, Mama.” His gaze went to Gina, lying down under the spruce tree that had once been the Enforcer’s favourite sleeping spot. “Have you eaten, Gina?”

“I’m not hungry,” she grumbled.

“We can chew some food for her,” Mistwalk said. “I know her teeth trouble her.” Some poppy seeds would ease her pain, if the Ruler hadn’t consumed them after every little scratch. Being unable to help an elder stung her pride as a medicine cat.

As they chewed, Rabbitkit commented, “Twolegs might be able to cure me, Mama. If they can, of course I’ll try to make my way back to you.”

“Or you could stay. They might not be able to cure you! All you need is time to forget your father. Nightmares don’t last forever.” Remembering her terror this morning at the mere mention of the Cat Gardens, her ears went back. She forced them forward.

“What if some do?” Rabbitkit asked.

She remembered Featherfall’s claws ripping open her cheek as if it had just happened. “They don’t,” she said, more to herself than to him. “And love protects from badness. No one is going to love you like your Clan.”

Rabbitkit sighed heavily before picking up the chewed up pieces of mice and bringing them to Gina. He walked more carelessly than usual, even falling down once or twice. Normally, he’d get back up scowling or tail lashing, and walk even more carefully than before; now, he didn’t even seem to notice. Although Mistwalk tried to have him lean against her, his legs kept sending him away from her.

Gina didn’t appreciate their hard work. She hissed, showing off her swollen gums and brown teeth. “You’re feeding me like I’m some baby bird! Is that what I am to you, an ugly, helpless thing? Pah!” Her yellow gaze snapped to Mistwalk. “And you! Let the kit go. He’s going to die here.”

“You—!” Mistwalk snapped. But one shouldn’t be rude to an elder. She interrupted herself, inhaled deeply, and managed to politely say, “You don’t know Clan life, but we’ve seen Rabbitkit’s affliction before. I can’t cure it, but I can care for him. He’ll be as well protected as kits in the nursery.”

“As if you know protection, feral! What’s brambles and leaves next to Upright walls? Nothing can claw through them. Stronger than stone. If cats fight, well, the Uprights stop them, and wounds are cleaned. Saw it myself, back when I lived with....” She drifted off, the fire in her expression fading. “They would’ve taken care of my teeth,” she muttered. “I’d be fat and happy now, instead of this wreck. It’s a long life the Uprights offer you, and a kind one.” She glared scornfully at the pieces they’d offered her. “I’m not hungry.”

Rabbitkit shot Mistwalk a dismayed look. This wasn’t the first crotchety elder Mistwalk had dealt with, however; she stroked her tail along her son’s back reassuringly. “Let me talk to her, my dear. You go off and think about what I’ve said.” Constantly nagging him would push him away. He needed time to think and draw his own conclusions.

* * *

He decided to leave the next morning. He whispered this to her in the nursery burrow in pre-dawn. “I’m sorry, Mama. I love you so much, but I just can’t stay.”

Mistwalk had stayed awake all night. _Remember this_ , she told herself, burying her nose in his scent glands at his cheeks. _Just in case._ She would forget all the herb-lore she’d ever learned if she could just never forget him.

“My little love,” she said, sighing. “StarClan watch over you.” She said that before she remembered there was no StarClan here. “Rather, whatever power kept your brother and sister safe, watch over you.” _If it’s even a good power_ , she thought uneasily.

She groomed him, so he could meet the kittypets looking decent. She tried to remember everything: his smell, his low voice, his bright white coat with its small black and orange spots.

Mistwalk would have gone to the Twolegplace with Gina, Two Tone and Sweeps Up to see her son off, but the thought of returning to the Cat Gardens made her ill. Strange, how the Ruler had raped her so many times, but that first time stood out so clearly. _The first time, I suppose I still hoped he wouldn’t do it, or it wouldn’t be so bad, or it would get me what I wanted...or it would only happen once._

She excused herself by saying her pregnancy meant she couldn’t travel that far. If anyone knew better, they didn’t contradict her.

All the barn cats tried to console her. Sweeps Up did it best, with a direct, “We’ll take care of him,” and a lick to her shoulder. With Sweeps Up, she believed they would.

But would the Twolegs take care of him? Terrier’s presence was a constant reminder that Twolegs could ruin a cat’s life. Manx the dog said a fond goodbye to Gina and Rabbitkit; Terrier followed his friend, managing a barely civil nod to Gina and a grunted “See ya,” to Rabbitkit. Clearly, he thought they were making a mistake.

“Be safe,” Mistwalk told her son, wishing she had the words to express everything she wanted to say. “Watch out for your temper. Remember that you always have a home here if you want to come back.”

“I’ll remember.” His yellow eyes were warm, but his tail was twitching with impatience. He wanted to be gone.

As the group departed, Mistwalk watched her son walk down the Thunderpath, trying to fix his awkward, staggering gait into her memory. Soon, the travellers mounted the hill and vanished into the Twolegplace. What if he was struck by a monster? What if a dog attacked him? 

“I should have told him he could become a warrior,” Mistwalk muttered to herself. “He might have stayed, then.”

“Could he have?” Featherfall said. Startled, Mistwalk glanced over and saw her friend sitting beside her.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you join me.” Mistwalk sighed, gazing back down the Thunderpath. “I couldn’t say. Perhaps. Just because ForestClan’s she-cat went to the elder’s den, doesn’t mean he had to. It might have taken more effort and a different type of training, but he might have been able to hunt and fight. If only I’d thought of that seasons ago.” Her ears flattened.

Featherfall was silent, but Mistwalk found some comfort in it. She brushed her tail along her friend’s until Featherfall excused herself for border patrol.

She didn’t sleep all day. Manx sat silently with her for a time, Mouse Face brought her a vole and some mindless chatter, and Featherfall eventually returned and began grooming her. Mistwalk didn’t move, face turned to the Twolegplace as if that could keep her son safe.


End file.
